


the abcs of loving anders

by bokutoma



Series: a city elf, a champion, and a mage walk into a bar [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alphabet Meme, Anders Needs a Hug, Anders Positive, BAMF Anders, Based on Songs, Broody Fenris (Dragon Age), Canonical Character Death, F/M, Isabela is a Good Friend, Minor Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Sweet Merrill (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, i'm considering maybe either a flashback chapter or a nathaniel chapter, soft anders, ugh i'm just SOFT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: there are a lot more than 26 reasons to love anders, but there are only so many that varric can fit into one manuscript





	1. am i pretty? - the maine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marian hawke's insecurities may be rare, but they definitely crop up when she has to make nice with the nobility. good thing anders is always there to steady her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started this to make up for my first runthrough of da2, where i knifed anders in the back. i couldn't help it; i felt betrayed that he blackmailed me. recently, though, i started thinking about all the soft things about him and couldn't resist some appreciation for my actual favorite mage in the series so far

Marian stared in the mirror, tutting softly to herself as she twirled, trying to find at least  _something_ that she liked about the way her new dress looked on her. Bodahn told her that she looked lovely, bless his heart, but she figured he was slightly biased, having come to see her in a rather fatherly light since saving Sandal. Logically, she knew that the soft yellow complemented her skin and set off her bright blue eyes, but she couldn't help feeling like a bigger bust would have made the low neckline look better, or that the muscle of her arms stood out too clearly against the delicate silk of the sleeves.

With a twinge in her heart, she realized that Bethany would have looked far better in the dress than her. Her sister had always been lovely, and Marian, despite being rather pleased with her strength and general features, had always envied how ethereal the youngest Hawke looked in a dress.

"Knock knock. Is anyone home?"

She turned at the sound, the skirts swishing at her ankles a stark reminder of how different she and her garments were. Anders stood in the doorway, having pushed the door open regardless of her answer, and now leaned against the door frame, a tilted smirk on his face.

"Maker, I wish I wasn't," she sighed. "Otherwise I could have pretended that I was far too busy to go to the de Launcets's little get together."

Anders let his head rest against the door frame with a soft thud, further distorting the angle of his grin. "But then we wouldn't get to see you in such lovely attire, Messere Hawke," he teased. At least, she  _thought_ he was teasing. Maker knows that she would have mocked herself for wearing such disparate garments.

"What a shame that would have been," she said, her expression souring before she could help herself. "How sad that they wouldn't have been able to titter behind my back at how I strain the sleeves of my dress with musculature too unsightly for women."

"That's not the only part of the dress that's straining," he joked, winking, and Marian couldn't help but smile at the levity in his gaze. "Seriously, though, Hawke, the dress looks brilliant on you. You'll put all of those nobles to shame with your beauty."

She rolled her eyes. "You're awfully flirtatious tonight, Anders. While I appreciate the thought, you don't need to flatter me. I'm aware of how ridiculous I look in formal wear, but I don't particularly mind. I just wish Dulci de Launcet would quit attempting to get me into dresses with bell sleeves. It doesn't exactly do wonders for my confidence"

He shrugged. "You could fit a dagger up your arm with bell sleeves. Also, I'm being entirely sincere, Hawke. You are a vision at even the worst of times."

"Any chance you happen to own noble finery?" Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Maker knows I could use your positive affirmations among those god awful piss-for-brains." She didn't expect him to come, of course; what better way to attract trouble than to appear among nobles, nameless and devastatingly handsome, only to disappear the minute the party ended?

"Say that Varric can come with us, and I'll do my best to find one."

Marian's eyes widened in surprise, and she took a step forward, suddenly unsure if this Anders was real or an apparition. That would be just like her tired brain to conjure up the encouragement and support she craved from one of her dearest friends. "Anders, I wasn't serious!"

He deflated. It would have been unnoticeable had she not come to know him so well, but three years had lent her enough time to carefully memorize his expressions enough to recognize his disappointment. "Neither was I. You, a proper noblewoman, taking me to the party that would be to serve as the debut of the newly reborn Amells? Unthinkable."

Guilt pooled in her belly, and she crossed the meager distance between them to place a callused hand on his arm. "Maker's breath, Anders, I didn't mean it like that."

The same wry grin twisted his features, but it suddenly seemed hollow. "It's a good point nonetheless, Hawke."

Logically, she knew he was right, and that she shouldn't argue with sound decision making, but damn logic! Damn everything if it meant that she had to endure a moment more of Anders's sadness. "I have a good counterpoint, however," she said, slipping into her low heeled and barely used shoes and taking his arm. "If I have the handsomest man by my side, they won't have much room to talk, will they?"

A flicker of his former good humor returned to his face as they began to walk. "Yes, the women truly do go for the 'I forgot to shave for five days' look, not to mention my personal style, which I've dubbed 'impoverished apostate chic.'" 

Marian frowned, unsure how he could be so ignorant of his own good looks. "Anders, any woman practically drools the moment she lays eyes on you. All of.... _that_ in formal attire? We'll have to pry them off of you."

He snorted, descending the stairs with his own charmingly awkward grace. "And you? I doubt you drool at the sight of me."

She felt her cheeks warm as she attempted to figure out how best to answer his question, but she was spared from answering by Leandra's startled gasp.

"Oh, Marian dear!" her mother cried, rushing forward to grab her arms and survey her daughter's attire. "You look lovely!"

She felt rather than saw Anders's answering grin. "That's what I've been trying to say, but she's rather stubborn, isn't she?" 

Leandra nodded, sending a tender smile to her daughter. "I'll come for the evening, dear, so you won't be alone until later tonight. Sorry, dear, but I can't keep up with your youth."

"Don't worry," Anders interjected. He was still standing behind her , closer than she thought, and due to his height, she could feel the warmth of his breath. "Hawke has been kind enough to invite Varric and I as well, so he can network and we can laugh at how he makes fools of the nobles."

"Oh, how darling of you!" Leandra swept her daughter into a hug, as she had realized Anders would need clothes. Her mother's face was pressed against her hair, and she whispered, "I've seen how that Anders fellow looks at you," then pulled away, smirking as she saw her child flush red.

Marian attempted to school her face into something resembling calm as she approached Anders, who merely smirked knowingly. "We're getting Varric," she said, ducking her head and marching out the door, a giggling Anders in tow.

 

 


	2. broken - lovelytheband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if there's anything to be said for the hurt that anders has endured, it's that it's made him kinder than hawke ever thought possible

The Hanged Man was as crowded as always, much to Marian's chagrin. Perhaps sometimes she enjoyed the loudness of the bar, but Bethany had just been taken to the Circle, and she had endured much hardness in the Deep Roads, and she wanted nothing more than to drink in peace. Unfortunately, she was in the company of her new friends, Varric's treat, and she felt longing to do nothing more than get wasted. Isabela was being her usual charming self, Varric was weaving stories, Fenris had been nowhere to be found since emerging from the Deep Roads, and Merrill was flitting around from person to person. All of them were far too social for her liking.

The only person she felt she could tolerate was Anders. He had been quiet, but not standoffish, and, aside from Varric and Fenris, was one of the people she trusted most. After all, she had only known the others for a matter of weeks; those that had accompanied her underground were the only people she had really bonded with.

"Another pint?"

Lost in thought, Marian had missed Anders's approach, and he now was standing next to her, feathers brushing against the fabric of her tunic. She gave a wan smile. "That would be nice."

He gestured to the bartender, who nodded in response, then turned back to her, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Do you want to talk?"

She thought for a moment, fingers absently drumming on the wood of the bar. "I want to listen, if that's alright."

He nodded, grabbing the two pints the bartender had just set in front of them and gesturing to her to follow him to an unoccupied table. "Do you like to people watch?" He waited for her acknowledgement and patted the seat next to him when she agreed. 

She slid in next to him, still unsure, but also eager to see where this was going.

"Ooh, see that man over there?" He pointed to a man half slumped over what, according to the number of tankards on the table, what remained of seven pints. "Bet he had a rough day. Probably a dock worker, don't you think?"

Marian scrambled for an answer, uncertain how  _listening_ had become  _conversing,_ but to her relief, he kept talking as though she had given a response.

"Definitely a dock worker. He's too brutish for any other kind of work that could make you nearly that tired, except maybe mercenary work, but if he was a sellsword, he'd be long dead by now." 

The way that Anders gesticulated...well, it was almost like Bethany when she had talked with her sister about the dresses they would buy when they came into money. Marian hadn't been able to contribute much to that conversation, but she had enjoyed the near childish excitement that marked her sister's expression, erasing ten years from her features and making her look as though she were still the little kid that wanted to hear all of her tales of knights and adventure.

Somewhere between Anders's animated description of the dock worker and her thoughts of Bethany, Marian realized that he had stopped talking, and she flushed as she noted the mildly amused expression on her friend's face.

"Sorry," she said, shrugging and hoping that he would blame it on her alcohol intake. 

The look in his eyes told her that he knew, or at least suspected the truth, but he had the decency not to say anything, and for that, she was infinitely grateful. "Not a problem," he said. "Just about time to get us both another pint, anyway."

He started to slide out of his seat, feeling for his undoubtedly light coin purse, but she stuck her arm out, barring his path, and slid a sovereign his way. 

"Andraste's tits, Hawke, we're in the Hanged Man, not an Orlesian banquet!" he cried.

She shrugged. "Keep the change. You live in Darktown, so by default you need it more than me." Especially now that she no longer had to worry about amassing as much wealth as possible to keep Bethany out of the Circle.

Again, he seemed to guess at her sour mood, and after gesturing vaguely at Norah, offered her his hand to dismount from the rickety stool she was perched on. It was an oddly gentlemanly gesture, considering their surroundings and that they had just emerged from a darkspawn filled tunnel a mere day or two ago. Marian found it more than a little endearing, and so slid her hand into his to pull herself up.

For a brief moment, their hands touched and their eyes met, and everything was alright again.

Then the moment passed, and she was just a ridiculously rich Fereldan in the Free Marches who had lost her sister and her brother in almost the same year again.

Anders cleared his throat, turning around to find Norah approaching, Varric not far behind. He swapped goods with the beleaguered waitress just as the dwarf sidled up to them. "Some Wicked Grace while we're upstairs? Isabela pilfered some wine from a visiting Orlesian dignitary, says it will get us nice and drunk."

"I'm in," she instantly replied, and her gaze darted to Anders, silently pleading with him to stay. 

"I've recently come into a bit of wealth," the mage joked. "I can afford to lose it all in a night."

Hawke let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't realized she had been keeping bottled up. "Let us pound our swill first, Varric, and we'll be right up."

Isabela snorted as she passed them on her way upstairs. "Sounds dirty."

Her friends herded themselves upstairs, and as Anders finished his nonalcoholic poison (probably literally, knowing Corff), she reached out her hand tentatively once more.  _Please,_ she begged internally.  _I need this._

Briefly, he looped his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand before letting go again, and Hawke felt the ice that had started forming in her chest ever since Bartrand had trapped them in the Deep Roads begin to thaw.


	3. catch me when i fall - luhan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no matter what happens, anders will be there when tragedy strikes again

Leandra was dead. Irrefutably, irrevocably dead, and Marian had done nothing to stop it.

Oh, she was certain that Varric would paint her the tragic hero, a woman who had done all the right things, only to have been doomed from the start, but she knew better than anyone else how false his tales could be. Life was not a storybook. If she had picked up on the clues...Maker, Bodahn had even told her about the lilies, and she had brushed it off as her mother finally getting back into courting. She had been  _happy._

No, worse than that: she had been distracted. Anders had just finished moving in his scant belongings that day, and she had been practically floating on air, showering him with so many soft kisses that she almost thought he would tire of her. Instead, he had merely laughed, wrapping her up in a hug, littering revenge kisses across her cheekbones and on the tip of her nose, and she had been content.

_Content._

She should have known that she was not made for contentment. She had lost Carver, and a year later, Bethany as well. She should have known that life would not stop there, that it would take and take from her until she had nothing left.

Even Gamlen, her uncle, a man she had hoped would take her by the hand and be on her side in  _this,_ if nothing else, had scorned her. She supposed he was right to do so; why would he bother to grow close to her when everyone she loved was cursed?

Anders had yelled at him, her lover attempting to shield her from the truth of Gamlen's words. It didn't work. It couldn't have worked. He was right, after all. The blame for Leandra's death was entirely was on her shoulders. If she had just run faster, noticed sooner, done literally  _anything_ better, she would still have her mother, and Gamlen would still have his sister.

She had stepped in front of Anders, carefully not looking at him. (After all, wasn't that what got her into this to begin with? No matter how much it hurt, this was her penance for not being there.) She had agreed with Gamlen's every word, which seemed to surprise the old man. He began to take back his words, but Marian wouldn't hear it, and she fled upstairs, where she had been sitting ever since. 

Bodahn had come in, taken one look at her, and left a bowl of soup on her desk for her, leaving without a word. Distantly, she longed for a hug from him, his air so overwhelmingly fatherly that, for a moment, it was like Malcolm Hawke was alive and well.

He wasn't, though, and she didn't deserve that, anyway.

Sandal had been outside her door at one point, she had thought, which was only confirmed when she heard a stern "Enchantment," followed by muffled curses as Anders attempted to get around the dwarven boy without injuring either of them. Sweet boy. Somehow, he always knew what she needed, and never failed to follow through on delivering it. He was much like his father that way.

Of course, thinking on how similar the Feddics were only caused her chest to seize up again. No one who had ever known the Hawkes thought that Marian had been anything like her mother. If she had been more dutiful, gone to as many parties as her mother wanted, danced with as many suitable young men as her mother could find...if she had been Bethany, perhaps her mother would be standing in this room, and Leandra would have been proud of her.

Instead, she was Marian Hawke, a little too much like Malcolm to set her mother at ease, and a little too much of her own person for her mother to understand. Bethany, and even Carver, in his own way, had been the ones worthy of the name Amell. She was Hawke, and she wouldn't let anyone forget it - least of all herself.

Just as she made this resolution, nails biting into the skin of her palms, her door creaked open tentatively. Dryly, she wondered if it was Coterie assassins - she had been getting more and more of those since her first meeting with Varric. Perhaps she even wanted to be an easy mark. The heavier footfalls, however, gave away the intruder, since no Coterie would ever be caught dead walking that loud in a mark's home.

"Leave, Anders," she said, her voice strange in her throat.

"Marian-"

"Hawke. That is my name." She could practically see the anxious way he was shifting back and forth, even with her back turned, and it burned somewhere between her stomach and her chest that she knew him so well. She did not deserve this.

"Alright," he continued, his voice shaking, but still somehow resolute. "Hawke, then." She felt the bed dip under his weight as he sat at the foot of it, her head thudding gently against the headboard as her body adjusted to the change in weight. "I know nothing I say will change it. I just- I'm sorry."

A pregnant pause. She could not speak, could barely even breathe.

"You were lucky to have her as long as you did," he continued, and she wanted to rage at him even as she knew the truth he spoke. He had barely had his own mother, yet didn't that make it worse for her? To have known her and loved her for twenty-some years, only to have her cruelly ripped away? She hadn't even gotten a peaceful death. "When the pain fades, that's what will matter."

What did  _he_ know? "I didn't try hard enough to save her." Her voice was eerily calm, glass cracking against a cold gray sky. 

"She wouldn't want you to blame yourself," he said, and she felt the bed dip again as he shifted subtly towards her.

Something in her snapped. "You don't know my mother," she growled, whipping around to face him, teeth bared in a snarl. The distant part of her that wasn't this pain thought she must have looked quite the fright, her blue eyes swollen from tears, her hair matted to her face, snot bubbling from her nose. The rest of her reveled in it.

Anders didn't flinch, though he better than anyone knew what she was capable of. "I know," he said, closer now, somehow, two feet away instead of three. "And I'm sorry I'll never get to."

And then he was right beside her, unafraid, even though she must have looked like a wild thing. It set the last part of herself close to breaking.

His hand reached out, as if to grab hers. "I'm here for you, whatever you need." She did not deserve this.

She snapped. 

She lunged at him, hands beating against his chest, the waterworks already started. "You aren't!" she shrieked, a woman possessed. "You aren't, you aren't, you aren't!"

She flailed as he gathered her against his chest, rocking her back and forth as she squirmed. "Take it out on me, love. I'll be that bastard Quentin, so let me have it. I'll be here for you," he whispered, fingers tangling in her hair even as he stroked it.

She screamed and howled for what must have been an hour, and finally, when she tired, Anders gathered her in his arms and took her to her desk, where he set her down and grabbed the spoon for her soup, carefully holding it to her mouth.

She turned away.

"Hawke," he said, and he sounded so pained that she couldn't help but take a single sip.

He smiled so wide that the words came unbidden. "Don't."

Hurt flashed over his face briefly, bur it settled, and he kneeled at her side, his chin resting on her thigh. "I can't stop," he said, voice heartrendingly sincere. "I love you."

She collapsed to the ground once more, suddenly boneless with exhaustion and overwhelming, numbing pain, but he caught her.

"I love you," he whispered. "You can get through this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cried writing this duigheiuhr


	4. dear maria, count me in - all time low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anders may not be a schemer anymore, but he's always down for any of hawke's crazy plans

It had been a year since Bethany was taken, a year since that fateful return from the Deep Roads. Distantly, Marian knew she should be sad, should take the day to mourn with her mother, but she couldn't. Not today, when today was another day that Bethany wouldn't get to spend free. Not today, when Marian could live Bethany's life for her.

A couple disgruntled miners had tried to assault her on her way down to the Darktown clinic, but she had been full of an over-exuberant kind of joy, and they had backed off when she slashed at them with a concealed dagger, laughing in a manner that she suspected looked a little crazy. 

She turned as they fled, just in time to catch an amused smile on Anders's face as he leaned against the doorway. "It's a good day, then?" he asked, and she nodded, because today  _was_ going to be a good one, regardless of what this shithole city had in store for her.

"Tell me you can take the night off," she begged, her footsteps light as she danced over towards him. She reached out, almost hesitant, but grabbed at one of his hands, tugging him towards her. 

"I don't know," he hesitated, eyes flicking back to the inside of the clinic. "What if someone comes while I'm out?" But the corner of his mouth was curled into a reluctant little grin, and she was taking that as a sign of victory, if she just pressed a little harder. 

"Then Lirene can see to them while you're out. Maker knows you work too hard for these blighted bastards anyway." She tugged at his hand again, this time reaching out with the other so that both were within her grasp. Faintly, she noted calluses where his staff was braced against his hand, and they sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Besides, I'd rather spend today with you than anyone else."

She only had a moment to notice the uncomfortable gulp of breath he took in before he acquiesced. "Alright," he said, voice lighter than she had heard in weeks. "Anything for my favorite rogue."

"Varric will be  _devastated._ " And now she was giggling, because despite everything that should drive them apart and his endless warnings, being around him made her feel light. If this was all she could be given, she would happily take it.

"Hang Varric," he teased, and now he was laughing too, and she stumbled momentarily at the sound of it, raw and open and real. 

Maker, she was very possibly  _in love_ with him. 

That didn't matter, though, because today was Bethany's day. 

"If we hang him, then who's going to pay for our drinks?"

Anders simply shook his head with a short laugh and re-secured his hand in hers as they made their way out of Darktown.

* * *

"This is possibly the stupidest idea you've ever had," Anders said as Marian balanced on the widest ledge that overlooks the water. In the distance, the Gallows loomed, but she was carefully ignoring it as she spread her arms, feeling a breeze tickle her skin through her armor.

"It's fun!" she cried, her weak protest seeming to be the only convincing he needed to join her on the ledge.

Surprisingly, he had no trouble with uneven distribution of weight, feet planted solidly on the stone ledge as he paced toward her, natural as walking.

"Maker!" It's the only thing she could say to comment on his ridiculously catlike grace, and he gave her a decidedly feline grin in return. 

"No," he teased, pretending at modesty. "Just me, Anders."

"How do you do that?"

He didn't respond to her question, only winking at her in a way that made her cheeks redden in a manner she had always thought beneath her. "Do you want to see something far more impressive?"

She could only nod as he glanced around, seemingly looking for anybody watching them. A flicker of worry curled in her chest at the thought of him doing magic so openly, but she needn't have worried. As she watched, he kicked off and....

 _Andraste's tits,_ was he balancing on his hands? And... _oh._ Now she knew why he had looked around. His robes began to slide down his body in a way that she could sense more than see in the darkness, and she had to will herself to look away. In a moment, though, he had righted himself, and the whole thing had brought him far closer to her. 

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked breathlessly, mentally thanking the Maker for the darkness that covered her blush. 

"I was bored in the Circle," he shrugged, and she reached out a hand to apologize, to comfort, anything to dispel the thoughts of the place that she knew he had hated. He sounded cheerful, though, as he continued, saying, "It was a lot of fun to make the Templars think I was in danger of falling. First Enchanter Irving always got me out of trouble after they had gotten over their panic, saying that I hadn't intended to scare them, since I knew what I was doing. Of course, we both knew that was a lie, but it worked every time."

He grew quiet at that, seeming to be reflecting on his earlier life, and she caught him by the hand, desperate to keep him happy. She could feel him start at her touch, but he relaxed into it, and she smiled.

"Teach me how?" she offered, and she could feel the vibrations of his startled laugh through their shared skin. 

"Alright," he acquiesced. "But certainly not on this ledge. I don't want to be fishing you out of the water. We'll both catch cold."

For the next twenty minutes, he tried to teach her what he had done, until she was, albeit a little unsteadily, walking in circles on her hands. She giggled as the blood rushed to her head, and she wobbled dangerously once more before Anders demanded that she right herself.

She stumbled as she returned to her feet, and Anders reached out to steady her without a second thought. This brought her a hair's breadth away from him, just close enough that Marian wondered with dizzy clarity if he could feel her heart pounding like a living beast.

In the darkness, they seemed to draw closer, and she wanted more than anything to take his face between her hands and pull his lips to her own.

Today was for Bethany, however, so she merely tilted her head forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, breath coming in laborious pants.

"Thank you," she whispered, unable to muster energy for anything further, unable to say  _I love you._

"It was a pleasure to dance with you, my lady," he responded, voice soft as the feathers on his pauldrons.

Call her crazy, but in the moment, she heard him say  _I love you too._


	5. endlessly - the cab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anders thought that he wouldn't be capable of romantic gestures post-Justice, but he still manages to surprise hawke sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a rogue anders pov  
> also, i love ilen

It was when they were visiting the Dalish on some masochistic whim of Merrill's that Anders got the idea.

He knew Hawke ( _Marian, his Marian)_ wasn't the most fond of the Chantry, that she enjoyed listening to Merrill's tales of the elvhen gods, enjoyed looking at other cultures and piecing together the happiness and love that was central to all major religions, in the end, so as she and the blood mage talked with Keeper Marethari, he sidled over to the master craftsman of the clan, Ilen.

"Hello," he started, fidgeting nervously once the keen gaze of the older elf had locked onto him. 

"Andaran atish'an, child," the crafts-master responded, a smile warming his face as he seemed to take in how nervous the young mage was. "You travel with Hawke, correct? I may not approve of what Merrill is doing, but I have great love for her still and am proud that she made a friend as fine as her. What can I do for you?"

Heart warmed by Ilen's praise of Hawke, he stopped twisting his hands momentarily and looked the other squarely in the eye. "If it's not disrespectful, I'd like to ask you to make something for Hawke." He flushed at his own presumption, a voice that belonged to neither himself nor Justice whispering in his head that he was making a fool of himself. "I have some sylvanwood from when I used to travel with the Warden-Commander, and I'll certainly pay you for the inconvenience. I just- I know she respects Dalish culture a lot, and I wanted to give her a....token of my affections that would mean something to her. Truthfully, were she elven, she would have already run away to join you, I suspect."

Ilen had raised an eyebrow at him during that little speech, causing Anders to redden even further. Maker, he had just rambled like a fool, and now he wasn't going to get the ring, and it was all for naught.

"She sounds quite dear to you," the craftsman finally responded, with a hint of what could perhaps be an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Not to mention I'm in low supply of sylvanwood. I would be happy to see our customs honored in this way, and to help foster love between two souls. Did you have something in mind?"

Anders sighed in relief, worried that the old elf wouldn't help. "A carving of Mythal," he said slowly, still unsure if this would bring offense. "Since she is your goddess of love, I believe. And, if you wouldn't mind, a word."

"Vhenan?" Ilen ventured.

"Revasan," Anders replied, shaking his head.

A dry chuckle sounded from the other. "You certainly do know much of our culture, da'len," he said, looking at him with almost paternal fondness. 

"I listen when Merrill speaks."

"A rare talent for a shemlen."

Anders felt his mouth curve into a responding smile. "I try my best."

"Come back in three days' time, da'len," Ilen said as Anders handed over the sylvanwood. "You can present it to her then."

* * *

In a stroke of luck that Anders hadn't experienced in...well, forever, Hawke had asked him to accompany her to Sundermount to find some reagents for her suppliers, and it had only taken a bit of prodding - and a very pointed look at Varric for aid - before she agreed to visit the Dalish as well. 

"Just a quick visit," he had said, and meant it. He was not eager for the reactions of the other Dalish, even if he felt he knew Ilen and Marethari's reactions well enough. 

Now, just a mile at most away from the camp, his heart was beating so hard in his chest he thought it would explode. 

"Easy, Blondie," Varric said, a comforting hand on his elbow as Isabela walked ahead with Hawke, distracting her from his internal breakdown. He hadn't wanted to let her in on the secret at first, worried that she would tease him relentlessly, but Varric had insisted that she would be a vital addition, and he had to agree that she had been nothing but an effective distraction. "She's going to love it."

"She better," he said, laughing weakly.

Then they were there, and the two (weirdly parental) rogues were guiding them towards Ilen, easily ignoring even the most unfriendly looks of the others. 

"Ah, da'len, you've returned," Ilen said, and shot him a comforting smile. Andraste's ass, was he really that obvious in his distress?

"I didn't know you were so familiar with the crafts-master," Hawke teased, her hand finding his, fingers interlocking with his own and releasing some of his stress. "Been stealing up here for romantic interludes?"

"Nothing quite like that," he said, his lips finally quirking into a soft smile. "We've been planning a gift for you."

He savored the look of startled glee that touched her face, glad that he could make her happy. "Anders, it's not my name day or anything!"

"No," he agreed, squeezing her hand gently. "But it's another day where I can tell you how much I love you."

He hadn't noticed that Ilen had disappeared until he re-emerged, a box in his hand. "Child," he said, addressing Hawke with the same paternal look he had received just three days before. "Your lover has commissioned a piece of my craft for you, as he told me of your interest in the Dalish and our culture. I am honored to make something for a couple in such love, and I hope you will be honored to receive it."

Hawke took the box from him gently, as though she were holding something fragile, some life in her hands. She opened it tentatively, a soft grin on her face that Anders wanted to permanently affix to her face. It quickly spread into a large, genuine smile, however, and he decided that she had never looked more beautiful. "Anders," she gasped, and he was startled to find tears in her eyes. "It's beautiful!"

"Turn the ring, love," he said, certain that she hadn't seen everything. He knew she was far more familiar with the language than he, so he was confident she would understand the meaning behind the present. 

"Revasan," she read, her voice a hushed, reverent whisper. Carefully, she eased the ring from its box and slid it onto her ring finger.

It was a perfect fit.

"Do you like it?" he asked, certain he looked every bit the hopeful fool and somehow not minding a bit.

In answer, she pulled him against her in the most passionate kiss he had ever received in his life.

"I love you," she said once the parted.

"And I love you," he replied, pressing a kiss against the ring that now rested on her finger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/12/18 - i want you to know that i started working on this, decided to watch the last straw clip of his execution to remember the scene for a oneshot, and i laid on the ground for thirty minutes sobbing and saying "he was my baby, my fucking cinnamon aPPLE" repeatedly  
> things i relate to you that will embarrass me later, probably  
> 4/15/18 - i started working on this, found a fenris fic instead and laid on my bed for thirty minutes laugh crying about how much i love him  
> i just want to write this fic @ god why
> 
> revasan means "place where freedom dwells" and i just think that's so representative of handers and i'm crying again  
> also i can't stand that anders is a dick to everyone/is portrayed that way in fanon so here's anders caring about what merrill says even if he isn't good at showing it  
> i'm just a slut for anders getting the love he deserves from everyone, even ilen apparently


	6. FLOWER ROAD - BIG BANG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even at the end of the road, anders will never stop loving hawke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: this is not the wholesome end to the da2 storyline you're looking for

Even as Kirkwall collapsed around them, Marian wanted more than anything to take Anders into her arms once more and tell him that she loved him.

"It's the right thing to do, Hawke," Sebastian said, pressing the knife into her shaking hand. Funny, she didn't remember shaking when Bethany was taken, nor when she faced the arishok. Out of everything that had happened to her, it was Anders who made her afraid. 

"It is," Anders agreed, still not looking at her, still sitting on the box, staring out into nothing. "I've done you many disservices, Hawke. I do not regret what I've done here, but I regret what I've done to you."

 _He blackmailed you,_ she reminded herself, a desperate attempt to still the tremblings of both her hand and her heart.  _He said you did not love him if you didn't help him._

But he was a man, and inherently flawed. He had done what he thought he must, and wasn't that something that she herself could relate to? Nobody had shown her appreciation for what she had done for Kirkwall, yet she was undoubtedly the reason that it still stood. This is what the both of them wanted, freedom for the mages; she could not fault him if she didn't like the methods he used. 

"I love you," she choked out, and with some surprise, felt the wetness of her cheeks and realized that she had been crying. 

"And I you," he said. "But don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"Get on with it, Hawke," Fenris said. He was right, and he didn't mean it to be cruel, only a kindness, but she still felt the sting. 

"Hawke, he;s murdered an innocent woman! Elthina was keeping peace, she was the only thing keeping Kirkwall from breaking apart, but this wretched mage has undone that and taken her life as some sort of sick penance for not agreeing with his extreme views!"

"I do not regret it," Anders said, and still he would not look at her.

"Give me a moment, Sebastian," she said.

"Hawke, Kirkwall doesn't  _have_ a minute-"

"Hey, Choir Boy, she asked for a minute, so give her one," Varric interrupted. "I don't see you making the tough decisions around here."

Reluctantly, Sebastian stepped away, and Marian crouched down, her forehead pressed against Anders' back. "Will you just tell me that you loved me one last time?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she swallowed her tears. "Because I love you with everything in me. You were the only person in my life that I could trust, my only family left."

"I'll tell you," he said, and somehow, she could hear the smile in his voice. He sounded almost content, and she wanted to bottle the sound and keep it inside her forever. "But don't forget that I'm not your only family. Did you hear Varric just now? He sounded like he would cut down Sebastian in a moment just to let you have closure."

"Probably more of a fantasy than anything he's actually doing for me," she said, a strained laugh pushing past her lips. 

"Maybe so," he said, a hint of bleak mirth in his own voice. "But Merrill would fight off a legion of her demon friends to win your favor, and Isabela came back for you despite the fact that she had everything she needed to secure her own life and freedom. Sebastian, much as I disagree with him, is looking out for you in his own misguided way, and even that damned Fenris is trying to make things easy for you. You have a family, love, one who would fight and die rather than see you harmed. Bethany is alive, and she's free now. I would have blown up all the Chantry buildings in Thedas just to reunite the two of you."

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Then let me say one thing more," he said, and with some surprise, she heard a tremble in his voice. "You have been everything I never thought I deserved. You have been my light in a shadowed world, one where I never thought that I could be accepted for who and what I am. You were a singular flower where I thought I would never get to enjoy beauty, and you made me believe in the Maker again. If I am accepted to Andraste's side by some miracle, then I will meet you there, my love. You have always been the best and brightest that Thedas had to offer."

She collapsed, shaking as she sobbed, her arms coming around his waist as she clung to him with everything she had. The knife clattered to the cobblestone of the pavement, and she wept as Andraste wept for the world of mortals. 

"Hawke," Sebastian started, going for the knife, but Varric was the one who picked it up.

"This choice is between the two of you," he said, offering it to her. "And if you decide that it must be done, I'll do it myself."

"Marian," Anders said, leaning against her. "Please."

She clung to him for a minute more, then matched her breathing to his until she settled. Her hands no longer shook. She had to be precise. She could not cause him pain. 

"Varric," she said, and as he held out his hand, she took it in her own and prayed for strength. 

Then the knife found home, and Anders was lost to her.

 _No,_ she thought.  _I'll see you at the Maker's side._

_Sleep well, love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya friends!! if you like my work or wanna shove a song at me, gimme a shout on discord! i'm surana#0101


	7. good girls - 5 seconds of summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anders makes her feel like a lovestruck teen again - what more could the weary hawke ask for?
> 
> snapshots of a relationship built on love and lust
> 
> [we're back bitches!!]

"This is the absolute most idiotic idea that either of us have had, possibly ever," Hawke said, her hand in the loose fall of his hair and her leg hooked around his waist. "We're going to get caught, and then Sebastian will be told, and we'll have to endure his scoldings for ages."

" _That's_ your biggest complaint?" Anders asked incredulously, his voice muffled where his mouth was pressed against her neck, fingers nimbly undoing her armor. 

"I took him to a whorehouse  _once,_ and now he's out for my blood!" 

Anders couldn't quite suppress his laughter, but he smothered it in the newly exposed skin of her chest, mouthing downward until he reached her breastband. She shivered under his ministrations, elbow knocking into the wall of the confessional they were in.

"See?" she cried, but she was laughing too, sliding downward until her knees hit the ground, grinning wickedly up at him as he scowled at the loss of her skin against his.

"You make a very pretty picture," he teased. "All half undone armor and love bites."

"We should get Varric to have his illustrator use this for his next foray into romance."

Anders threaded his fingers through her hair. "I'm generous, but not that much, love. I'm only willing to share with people physically present with us."

"Fair enough," she replied, and dove under his robes.

* * *

Hawke tried desperately not to laugh against the pressure of his palm, did her best to resist the urge to lick his hand.

She failed miserably at both.

"You wretched minx!" Anders hissed, choking on a laugh as the pace of his hips stuttered. "I'm trying to keep you quiet at  _your_ request! The least you could do is  _not_ lick my hand."

"You like it when I lick your cock, though-"

"Shut  _up,"_ he laughed, punctuating the last word with a particularly aggressive thrust. "Not twenty minutes ago, you were all  _oh, but what if we get caught? My pure image will be ruined!"_ he cried in a falsetto that was nowhere near how she sounded. "You're about to find out if you don't stop making it difficult!"

He placed his palm back over her mouth mid-retort, smacking her hip when she licked it again.

"You know, this was a pretty stellar idea of a prank to play on Isabela," he whispered, leaning over her body to blow hot breath against her ear. "Fucking in her room, and she doesn't even get to enjoy the sounds or join in? You're a genius, love."

She nudged at his hand, and he lifted it slightly to allow her to speak. "Teach that bitch to think twice before she tries to auction off my smalls again."

"To be fair, who wouldn't want to sniff the Champion's smalls?" he teased, then yelped when she bit his hand. "Only kidding, you mangy bitch!"

He could feel the grin she was wearing without even having to look at her. "Love you, you rotten whore."

"Love you too, you cheap slut."

* * *

"I'm just saying, if Fenris catches us, I'm not sucking you off for the next week,  _at least,"_ Hawke threatened as she rolled them over so she could be on top. "I don't want to have to explain what we're doing in his house, fucking like rabbits."

" _We're_ much more likely to catch something in here, considering how fucking dirty it is in here." When she tweaked his nipple, he just gave her a winning smile. "I'm not wrong, you know."

"You usually aren't, except when you're not."

He scoffed, shifting away from a loose nail on the floor. "And when, exactly, am I wrong?"

"When I'm right, naturally."

Hawke felt him pinch her sharply at her side and scowled playfully as he rolled his eyes.

"Just for that, I'm going to side with Fenris the next time the two of you get in a spat."

Anders grinned wickedly. "And just for  _that,_ it will be about his living situation. Have fun looking like a fool."

"Says the sewer apostate."

If anyone else had said it, Justice would have had their heads. Instead, Anders laughed and pulled her closer.

"And you're the fool who loves me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @deracinatin
> 
> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma


	8. hurt - sasha sloan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hawke can't decide if she loves or hates how anders is able to stay away if he thinks it would make her happy // part 1

"Messere, a letter for you arrived just a moment before you came in," Bodahn called. He was always so respectful, waiting until she had doffed her armor and settled from the action of the day before bringing her news. A faint smile came to Hawke's face, only to be washed away by his next words. "It's from the Gallows."

_Bethany._

Bodahn must have read the concern on her face, because he shook his head. "I doubt the templars would be so...clueless as to inform you of your sister through letter, messere. It's usually Ser Keran or Ser Cullen who tells you if there are any changes, right?"

"You are, as ever, the sole voice of reason in this house, Bodahn," she said, sighing tiredly. "I hope they're not out to have me hunt more apostates. I'm running out of excuses as to why I can't be bothered."

"I don't know, but you ought to go soon, messere. There are only so many hours in a day, and you wouldn't want the knight-captain thanking that you're trying to skip out on meeting."

"Hang the knight-captain," Marian muttered, but she knew he was right. "I suppose I ought to set off now. Tell Anders where I am if I'm not back before he is, alright? I need him to help me brainstorm, and Darktown is too icky for me."

"As you say, messere."

* * *

"What  _now,_ Cullen?"

As the door collided with the wall in a resounding  _thud,_ Marian took a great deal of pleasure in watching Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford start, jumping practically a foot in the air.

The man turned a bright red as she raised her eyebrows in silent judgement.  _Maker,_ how she loved to watch templar bastards squirm.

"Champion. I did not expect you so soon-"

"I'm here now, though, aren't I?" Given the other Ferelden's expression, she thought she must be doing a very good job appearing unimpressed. "What apostates can the Chantry not handle today?"

Rutherford scowled, but did not protest. That  _was_ why the templars had called her, after all. "One in particular, actually. He was a clinic in Darktown-"

_Maker's breath._

"A clinic?" she interrupted, doing her best to channel something between Fenris's aloof and disdainful glare and Aveline's exhausted, dead-eyed stare. "Oh, the horror! He heals the people who can't afford the overpriced asses in Lowtown!"

"Hawke-"

"Champion," she corrected icily. Her blood ran hot, it was true, but she would not tolerate whoever it was that threatened Anders, even it it was, as it appeared to be, Meredith Stannard herself.

"Champion," the knight-captain amended, but his gaze had hardened to steel as well. "This man is an  _apostate_ -"

"And one who isn't actively harming anyone, so I don't see why you'd need me to do your job for you."

"Apparently, he's been in this city almost as long as you have."

"And you haven't caught him?" She snorted. "Knight-Captain, I have as much respect for you as anyone can have for a leader in an incompetent organization, but I am not your errand runner. If it's true, get your shit together and either find him or focus on bigger problems. If not, as I suspect to be the case, figure out who's planting false leads and act like the commander you are."

"Champion-"

"Save it," she snarled, already wondering what to tell Anders. "And if you  _dare_ take this out on Bethany, know that I will  _have your head._ "

Cullen sighed and slumped back in his seat, rubbing at his temples, apparently defeated.

Good. It wasn't half the headache she'd soon have to deal with.

* * *

When she had told Anders, Justice had wasted no time in leaping to his defense. Before she could move, the spirit had her by her throat, pinned to the wall.

" _What did you say?_ " the spirit howled.

"Andraste's tits, you great oaf, put me down and I'll damn well tell you!" Marian was used to his antics at this point, and though she knew they would never harm her without cause, she had to admire their dedication to their host, their friend, and frankly, she could relate.

Anders regained control, stroking soothing fingers along her neck. "I'm...sorry," he whispered, and she hated the sound of him, vulnerable and lost.

"Don't be. I would have reacted the same."

"Are they...close?" The vulnerability in him ate at her, and she felt every muscle in her body tense, ready to fend off anyone who  _dared_ hurt him.

"All they have is Darktown, love," she soothed, and he relaxed marginally. "Give it a day or two, and Varric will hunt down whoever told and give them a piece of his and Bianca's mind."

"But they'll still know."

"Hang the templars!" she cried. "I'll cut down each and every one that gets close."

"You have Beth to think about, love."

Her returning bark of laughter was wan, colorless. "I'd drown us both in blood to keep you safe."

He looked at her for a moment, puzzled, before he rang the bell that called for Bodahn.

* * *

It was never a particularly  _good_ thing to have Hawke storming through his door, regardless of the time of day, but Varric decided that the hours between midnight and dawn were decidedly the worst.

" _Where is he?_ " she bellowed, and his brain wasn't quite working at full capacity, but the expression she wore, a cross between terror and pure, blistering anger were worse than anything he could conjure.

"Chuckles, what are you on about?" he asked, bleariness infecting the usual suave, conversational tone he held.

"Anders, you fucking -  _argh!_ "

The guttural growl that Hawke let out was unlike anything he had ever heard from her. She was a damned wounded animal, and whatever was eating at her, he had to help.

"Lover's spat?" he asked, and the look she gave him could have turned Bianca to ash and liquid steel.

"No, you ass. Five days ago, Cullen motherfucking Rutherford said he was looking for a Darktown apostate who ran a clinic. I told him to fuck off and find the bastard himself. Five days ago was also the last time I saw Anders, so you must see why I'm losing my mind!"

"Hawke..." Somehow, Varric got the feeling that one wrong word might send one of her daggers into his eye. "Anders was here just yesterday."

A bonfire blazed in her eyes, so sudden and terrible that, momentarily, Varric feared for his life. As quickly as it appeared, however, it vanished, and in its place was a cold, empty wasteland.

"I see," she said, her voice flat and hard.

"Hawke-"

"Save it. I don't own him." With that, she spun around and exited, the door shaking in its frame when she slammed it closed.

 _Ancestors,_ humans were a lot of drama.

 

 

 


	9. icey - melii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hawke can't lie: anders and primal spells are a devastating combination

Hubert was going to fucking get it the next time Marian saw him.

The entire mine was a shitshow. Anything that could be set ablaze, was, and all around, bodies of her countrymen were strewn across the sand. Blood coagulated across the ground, and scorch marks littered the area like inked reminders of carnage.

"Son of a  _bitch,_ " Varric swore.

"Don't talk about your mother like that," came Isabela's automatic response, but Marian could tell that her heart wasn't in it as it usually would have been.

"Be quiet, whore!" Aveline barked.

"You're louder than everyone else," Anders muttered.

"Can everyone just shut the fuck up for one second?" She meant for it to come out as an order, but with the horror of discovering the scene still sticking to the back of her throat, it became more of a plea. "Unless, of course, you know what's happening here."

"Dragons are definitely back," Anders said, and the smooth confidence of his voice reminded her that he was a Warden once. It comforted her, even though it  _really_ shouldn't have. "Probably several, but..."

"But?" Isabela prompted. 

"Well, looking at the scope of the damage, if we consider everything, and if we're unlucky-"

"We're always unlucky," Varric grumbled. 

Anders nodded. "True enough. If we're unlucky, though, it could be a high dragon."

_Fuck._

"Sounds like a typical day for us," she tried to joke.

It fell extraordinarily flat.

"Well, we don't exactly have a choice here, do we?" Aveline asked. "It is  _your_ mine, at any rate."

"Nope!"

"I hope we all die," Varric said.

* * *

It was, of course, a high dragon, because the Maker got His kicks from watching Marian struggle.

"Is it too late to forget I ever met you?" Isabela asked, slightly breathless as the giant, serpentine creature swooped overhead.

"If I don't get to leave, then neither do any of you, you bastards."

"Hey, Rivaini was the only one who said anything!"

Hawke sent him a narrowed glare as she drew her daggers. "Don't even start pretending at nobility now, Tethras. It's far too late to be believable."

Before anyone else could offer a contribution to their witty banter, the dragon struck, and they scattered.

As Anders and Varric retreated and she, Aveline, and Isabela advanced into the massive cloud of sand the beast had kicked up, Marian regretted not taking up archery when she had the chance. Still, she circled the dragon, searching for a weakness to take advantage of.

Naturally, that meant that there were none to be found.

"Open it up, Anders!" she shouted above the din of metal against scale and enormous talons striking the ground.

As she dodged the dragon's snapping maw, alerted by her shout, her lover began to work his magic - literally.

Veins illuminated by blue and eyes flecked by the same lyrium-pale color, he raised his hands to the heavens, and Isabela and Aveline, who were still attempting to get a hit or two in, scrambled.

Primal spells had always run deeply in the Hawke family, or so her father had once told her, and it had been evident when watching Bethany and him spar. Massive flames would be ignited in instants, and with a snap of either of their fingers, their opponents would be frozen sold.

Anders was a damn  _spirit healer,_ and the blizzard he conjured rivaled anything she had ever seen from her family. It was perhaps, one of his most attractive features.

"Maker, Hawke, stop gawking and start fighting!" Even through the storm, the sand, and the flames, Marian could see Aveline roll her eyes.

Anders flashed her a devious smile as he continued, flashing ice storm after ice storm, then winked.

 _Cheeky bastard._ How she loved him.

Battle was the most lively she regularly saw him, Justice working with their host in unison to boost their unified power, light both supernatural and innate flashing in his eyes, hair floating and flying, staticky with magic's energy.

The wild unity of him, chaos barely contained in the loosest sense of order, was half the reason she loved him. The taste of the Fade as Justice receded from his eyes, lyrium and love and home, was the other.

He was a man of many talents, her Anders, and as the dragon fell, she sprinted to him and kissed him.

Hard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @ghostheirin
> 
> tumblr: @chellick // @bokutoma
> 
> let varric sleep


End file.
